The Hobo's Gift Poem by Garrett Westcott

In Central Park one Christmas morn
I was down on my luck
Hope tattered and torn
When a hobo passed by
Saw the tear in my eye
And gave me a gift
A star made of old twine
That special gift
Saw me through hard times
It's the light set before me
As the Christmas bells chime
And everyone should know
Just because your a hobo and old
Doesn't mean you have nothing to give
Just remember that story long ago
When Christ had no roof to hang over His head
He gave us His life
Even though we deserved death